


Into Fire

by silentrevyrie



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22245232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentrevyrie/pseuds/silentrevyrie
Summary: Six months after leaving Runway, Andy Sachs is struggling to make ends meet at the bottom of the pecking order at the New York Mirror. She signs up with a childcare agency as a way to make some spare cash in her (limited) spare time. What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 28
Kudos: 224





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Literally writing this as I go--where this story ends up will be as much of a surprise to me as it is to you all. 
> 
> My first foray into fanfiction in, eh, six years? And my first toe-dip back into the Mirandy pond since...ehhhh, 2010?

Andy Sachs did not know it was possible to work fewer hours for (ever so slightly) more pay and still, somehow, come up with $27 to her name at the end of every month until she was about six months into working at the Mirror. She’d moved three months ago—no point in keeping the overpriced, underwhelming apartment where she’d lived with Nate when she could move uptown with a roommate and halve her housing budget—and had been careful about spending, but she was still broke.

In the year and a half since she’d moved to New York, Andy had learned to drop most of the “aw-shucks” Midwestern vibe that she’d thought was just “who she was,” and adopted a much more shrewd and cunning attitude; Doug had taken to calling her “Baby Dragon,” and they both knew why, and she hated it, but he wasn’t wrong. That’s why Andy had no problem name-dropping Miranda Priestly when she submitted her application to a boutique childcare firm that specialized in high net worth families—clearly she had the “how to handle rich kids” thing down, and she understood discretion and how these families operated—as a way to hopefully make some extra cash. It had worked, too. They’d hired her same-day, and Andy had spent two or three nights a week since covering overnight care for the children of the rich and the famous, making almost as much in a night as she’d make in a week at the Mirror. 

“So, any big plans for your weekend off?” asked Harry, the junior copy editor who had been hired the same week as Andy. He was slightly older than she was, but had graduated from UChicago the same year Andy had graduated from Northwestern, and Andy loved having someone around who knew Chicago and Evanston like she did—there was a bond there that could only be shared among people who’d also done a double shot of Mallort chased by an Old Style at a party their first week of freshman year.

“I’m on-call for the agency,” Andy sighed. “I would love downtime but I would also love to be able to get takeout once a week without having to worry about overdrafting, you know?” She gave him a wry smile, which he returned—she was pretty sure Harry wasn’t making much more than she was.

“Faaaaaaair,” Harry laughed. “I guess we didn’t choose print journalism for the money.”

“Nope,” Andy grinned, “I’m definitely here for the fame and notoriety. I definitely went to journalism school to spend 50 hours a week writing marriage announcements and obituaries.” She turned back to her computer and refreshed her inbox one last time, and there it was: an email with the subject line “Confirmation of Your Appointment.” Well, there went Andy’s weekend, but at least she’d be making money. She double-clicked to open the email, and scanned for pertinent info. A full-weekend travel gig—okay, great. Meet at the client’s home at 7pm, a little over an hour from now, to travel with the family to their home in the Hamptons—doable, since Andy kept a go-bag stowed under her desk for last minute stuff like this. Two kids, both aged 11—easy enough; at that age they can mostly supervise themselves. Special notes indicated that Andy would be asked to pick up “minor personal assistant tasks” when the kids were otherwise occupied—totally fine, since she had plenty of assistant experience. Andy clicked through to the family profile, and nearly did a double take when she saw the name. She fumbled with her Blackberry, frantically punching in the numbers for the agency’s “Caregiver Hotline.”

“Thank you for calling Curated Caregiving; this is Leanne. How can I help you?” came the answer from the perky voice on the other end of the line. Leanne was one of the managers, and Andy was immediately relieved. Surely she could fix this.

“Hey Leanne, I know I’m the on-call for weekend work but you really need to reassign this gig that just came through.”

“You’re it, Andy,” Leanne replied. “You are literally the only sitter we have who is available from 7pm tonight clear through til 7pm Sunday.”

“You will lose her as a client if I’m who shows up at her doorstep,” Andy reasoned.

“I think we’re more likely to lose her if we cannot do the exact thing that we, a nanny agency, are supposed to do,” Leanne countered. “We sent over your info and she hasn’t threatened us yet.”

“You sent the info to an assistant, she probably hasn’t seen that it’s me yet. C’mon, Leanne. I take every gig you send me out for, I just cannot do this one,” Andy pleaded.

“I sent the confirmation to the e-cpub.com email, the internal one. She definitely saw it, and that was an hour ago.” Andy knew when she was defeated.

Andy tried to remember the anxiety breathing techniques she’d read about online—in through the mouth, out through the nose? Or was it the other way around?—as she realized what this meant. She couldn’t believe it. Andy was about to spend the weekend at the Hamptons home of one Miranda Priestly.


	2. Onward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like. Have you ever gotten an email from AO3 saying someone left kudos on one of your works and you're just like "wtf fic is that?"
> 
> Because, uh, that's what happened here. Someone left kudos on this fic, which I don't remember starting or posting. So, here's chapter 2 of a story that I am making up as I go, because the original idea behind it from JANUARY is completely gone (we lived in a different world then, let's be real).

Andy inhaled deeply through her nose—she’d finally given up and Googled the breathing exercise—and held it as she knocked on the door of the E 73rd Street townhouse. Absolutely nothing had changed from the last time Andy had climbed those steps, and she realized she shouldn’t have been surprised; what felt like a lifetime for her had only been six months. Sure, the planters on either side of the door had been swapped out for springier selections than had been there in September, but other than that, it may as well have been two days before Paris again.

“God, this is weird,” Andy muttered to herself. Everything about it was weird, but Andy laughed quietly to herself as she realized that the thing that felt weirdest wasn’t being back at the townhouse to begin with—no, it was the fact that she had to knock, that she wasn’t holding the Book and balancing Miranda’s dry cleaning in her 5” heels. Andy glanced down at her shoes—chunky Doc Martens boots that were great for running around the city, but maybe not so great for being scrutinized by your fashion maven ex-boss.

Andy was about to knock again when the door finally opened, but she couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed when it wasn’t Miranda on the other side. Instead, it was one of the twins, and it only took Andy a moment to see the tiny scar in the girl’s left eyebrow, which told her it was Caroline. “Hi Caroline,” Andy started warmly, “you ready to hit the road?”

“How do you know I’m Caroline?” the girl asked, her voice a mixture of hesitation and disdain.

“That scar right there,” Andy tapped her own eyebrow. “I was the one who had to interrupt your mom’s meeting with Alexander McQueen to let her know you’d fallen off of the horse.”

Caroline’s expression shifted, and it was clear the girl was struggling to connect the dots. As Andy opened her mouth to elaborate, she could see the recognition dawn on Caroline’s face. “Oh my god, you’re the assistant who quit in Paris!” Caroline was somewhere between awe and glee. “What are you doing here? Mom is going to flip—I think she JUST got done being mad at you.” 

Andy almost snorted. “I work for a babysitting agency sometimes, and your mom hired me to come with you for the weekend. Where’s Cara? And what do you mean your mom just got done being mad at me?”

“It’s her weekend off,” Caroline shrugged. “I guess she has plans with her boyfriend or something because Mom offered to pay her double to stay for the weekend but it didn’t work, since you’re here. And like…Mom was crazy after she came home from Paris. Cassidy and I thought it was because stupid Stephen asked for a divorce—which like we didn’t even like him so we weren’t sad about it or anything-- but then when Emily started bringing the Book—oh man the first time, she caught her crutches on the umbrella stand and totally fell over and dropped everything everywhere and it was SO funny—well anyway once Emily was bringing the Book again Cassidy realized you were gone and when we asked Mom where you went she got all weird and huffy and sent us to bed like two whole hours early.”

“Caroline?” Andy’s spine stiffened as she heard her ex-boss’s voice come from inside the house. “Let the babysitter in, I’m not paying to heat all of 73rd Street.”

“The babysitter,” she’d said. As Caroline opened the front door wider and moved aside, Andy swallowed a mirthless laugh as she tried to decide how Miranda was going to play this weekend. Was she going to exact some sort of revenge for Andy walking out in Paris? Was she going to pretend she had no idea who Andy was, even if her daughters obviously remembered?

“Moooooooom,” Caroline whined, “it’s not just a random babysitter. It’s Andrea, your old assistant!” From the way Caroline’s eyes shined, it was obvious that she thought that “revenge” was the most likely option, and the redhead was delighted to have a front-row seat.

Andy carefully set her bag down next to the mountain of designer luggage near what she mentally referred to as “the dry cleaning closet,” and she was briefly grateful that she’d chosen a Longchamp as her go-bag instead of an old backpack or duffel bag. She followed Caroline into the kitchen, where she found Cassidy finishing a bowl of some sort of soup, Cara collecting her belongings and heading towards the back door, and finally Miranda herself, whose breath Andy could’ve sworn hitched when they made eye contact. The eye contact was short-lived, as Andy felt Miranda’s eyes appraising her outfit, including the pause on her feet. Andy rocked back on her heels and opened her mouth to defend her clothing, before being cut off by a quick head shake from Miranda.

“So, babysitting?” Miranda smirked. “Writing obituaries and marriage announcements not all you thought they would be, then?”

Andy opened her mouth to reply at the same time her brain screeched to a halt. How did Miranda know what she’d been doing at the Mirror? Andy looked at Miranda, who clearly recognized how much she’d just revealed, but who said nothing.

“Well, it pays a little more than Runway did, but at least it leaves me time for pickup work for fun money,” Andy shrugged, unsurprised when she saw the editor bristle at the crack about how little she’d been paid. She looked over her shoulder for Cara, who she discovered had managed to stealthily exit. Andy turned back to look at Miranda again, who had busied herself on a cell phone that Andy didn’t recognize. Clearly she’d upgraded her technology since the last time Andy had seen her.

“When is Roy getting here?” Cassidy asked around a mouthful of soup.

“Roy has the weekend off, Bobbsey,” Miranda replied. “Mommy is driving.”

Cassidy looked wary. “The Cayenne?” Miranda nodded. “But the backseat will be so crowded, Andy’s way too big to squish into the middle and still leave room for me and Caroline.”

Andy didn’t have time to try to defend herself before Miranda spoke again. “Andrea will ride up front with Mommy, Bobbsey.” The finality in her tone suggested that this should’ve been a foregone conclusion.

Andy, who had been to Miranda’s Sagaponack home to pick up a forgotten Hermes scarf (that looked identical to every other Hermes scarf Miranda owned) after one of her boss’s weekends away, knew that this was not a short drive. Two and a half hours with Miranda behind the wheel, and Andy riding shotgun. Andy swallowed hard and hoped that Miranda’s daughters being in the backseat would keep anything too scathing from being said, but she also knew that the twins were well aware of how their mother treated her employees. But Caroline’s comment about Miranda being “mad” stuck with Andy. Why would Miranda have cared that her second assistant bailed? Andy was sure she’d been replaced in Paris before the show ended, and that her desk outside of Miranda’s office had been filled before the Runway team had even made it back stateside.

Andy’s stomach churned uncomfortably, and she regretted the bodega sandwich she’d downed on the train between her office and the townhouse. She didn’t know what Miranda’s angle was, but she was sure it wouldn’t be good.

“I’ll just take the bags out to the car, then?” Andy asked brightly, glad her voice didn’t betray her anxiety.

“The keys are on the table with the flowers,” Miranda said, never looking up from her phone.

“Great,” Andy replied. “I should have everything packed in—” she glanced at the mountain of luggage in the foyer, “ten minutes, and then we can hit the road.”

Miranda didn’t respond. Andy walked briskly into the foyer and grabbed the car keys off the table, as well as the two largest bags in the pile. She wondered briefly, as she dragged them carefully to the front step, if it would be in poor taste to run away again. Andy sighed to herself, because she knew the answer was yes, and she also knew that there was no way she’d escape Miranda unscathed a second time. 48 hours. All she had to do was survive 48 hours. How hard could that be?


End file.
